


- in a week ( 𝐀. 𝐊. )

by dissidentvedder



Series: 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐬 [1]
Category: Red Hot Chili Peppers (Band)
Genre: Death, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, F/M, Gun Violence, M/M, Slight sexual references, the reader is written as gender neutral (pronouns not used)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:42:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27138169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dissidentvedder/pseuds/dissidentvedder
Summary: dating anthony was a blessing. he was the sweetest person you have ever met, he’s taught you so many things and has taken you to so many places since his band gained fame and recognition. however, there are some bad aspects to the relationship. you both struggle with drug addiction, his father introducing the both of you to the world of heroin, cocaine, and marijuana. what happens when a drug deal ends up bad?INSPIRATIONS - in a week by hozier + karen crowley.THIS FIC CONTAINS drug use/abuse, slight sexual references, gun use, death, and one minor curse word.A/N - layout by @adoresobs!
Relationships: Anthony Kiedis/Reader
Series: 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐬 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1980919
Kudos: 1





	- in a week ( 𝐀. 𝐊. )

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  * dating anthony was a blessing. he was the sweetest person you have ever met, he’s taught you so many things and has taken you to so many places since his band gained fame and recognition. however, there are some bad aspects to the relationship. you both struggle with drug addiction, his father introducing the both of you to the world of heroin, cocaine, and marijuana. what happens when a drug deal ends up bad?
  * **INSPIRATIONS -** _in a week_ by hozier + karen crowley.
  * **THIS FIC CONTAINS** drug use/abuse, slight sexual references, gun use, death, and one minor curse word.
  * **A/N -** layout by [@adoresobs](https://adoresobs.tumblr.com/)! 



  


“would you pass me the lighter?” you said, hand reaching out to anthony as his red tinted eyes look over to you, his movements slow as his deft fingers wrap around the blue plastic cylinder, handing it over as his back scraped against the wall he was leaning on for support. sometimes he wished he never begged his father to convince his mother to let anthony stay with him. he wishes he never got on drugs, wishes it never became a lifeline for him. but, if he hadn’t, he would have never met the band, would have never have had some of the life lessons he’s learned, would have never met _you_. he would have never met the person who would become the love of his life. 

but… he’s corrupted you as well.

he introduced you to his father and his father introduced you to the drugs he had shown his son a few years prior, and taught you how to take all of the drugs he had at his disposal. you were the goody two shoes at school. people thought you were one of those holy catholic girls who would never do anything that was sinful and seen as unholy in god’s eyes. but then you began taking those drugs, and people now saw a different side of you. you have become a drug-obssessed, sex-crazed person who clung to anthony, doing most, if not all, of the crazy stunts he and flea did. you had watched as anthony jumped off a five-story building and broke his back, you were still the one to call 911, and you were the one anthony turned to when he needed a different kind of high.

you were his _soulmate_.

you both graduated high school with straight-a’s (no one knew how, you both were high most of the time), tony attended college for what seemed like a year before he dropped out, and he, flea, hillel, and jack formed tony flow and the miraculously majestic masters of mayhem. you watched all of their shows, seeing them perform on sunset strip in l.a., tube socks placed strategically on their nether regions, a gimmick that slowly became their trademark over time. in 1988, the news of hillel’s death shocked the band, causing jack to exit, not wanting to play in a band where his friends would drop like flies. they were able to replace them by chad smith and john frusciante, releasing mother’s milk later the next year. 

and still, you supported the band, even as the times changed towards the newer grunge rock sound. the band was still able to sell records, even with a tiny bit of difficulty.

anthony had managed to become sober from the drugs for a few years, but later, in 1994 after getting his wisdom teeth removed, going back to the lifestyle he has known since he was 11 years old. he hated it, if he was being honest. hated knowing that it had become so integrated into him that he couldn’t even stay a decade off drugs. he had been clean off them for five years, why were five more years too hard for him? 

in 1995, you had noticed your stash of heroine had gone missing. had you used it all already? you called out to anthony, eyebrows furrowed as you wrecked your bedroom, looking for the trademark bag that had held your drugs for however long. the singer walks into the room, a confused look on his face as he saw the status of your shared room, hand brushing through his long hair, “what is it?”

“have you seen the heroin anywhere?” you pushed aside a chair to the desk, looking in all of the drawers frantically. 

“no,” he shook his head. “we can grab more, if you want.” 

“yes!” you nodded. “i need it, anthony.” you ran over to him, wrapping your arms around his torso as you cried. “i _need_ them. _please_.” tears streaked down your cheeks, leaving a small puddle on anthony’s warm shoulder, soft skin pressing against your cheek.

“it’s alright,” he petted your hair. “let’s go get more, alright?” you nodded, feeling him peel himself away from you as he took your hand in his, leading you out of the bedroom and to the front door. minutes or hours could have passed, you didn’t know; your need for the heroin was dehabilitating at that point. you _needed_ it, needed the high you got off them, needed the liquid running through your veins. you would do _anything_ to get it. your mother had tried to get you to rehab, had tried to get you to become sober, but nothing ever worked. she claimed that you didn’t know what you were doing, but you _did_. that’s the thing. 

you always knew what your limit was, you knew when to not do drugs and when it was okay to do them, and looking in the mirror as a middle school photo of you hung from one of the corners, you didn’t notice any changes. maybe a little older, of course. but no sign of a drug addiction was showing on your face. no pockmarks, no angry red spots glaring at you from the mirror, save for the few pimples you did get from stress or from having been out for too long. but no one could tell you did drugs. it was too well hidden; the only other person who knew you did drugs was flea. you only ever did drugs with flea and anthony. to you, chad and john were too new to the band. you liked them, you honestly did, but something inside you refused to let you shoot up heroin or snort cocaine or smoke marijuana when they were around.

up ahead, a bridge stood. 

anthony told you of the things you were to say once you got there, such as the fact that you were a distant cousin of so-and-so visiting them from milwaukee and that the you two were currently dating. you nodded. anything to get it. the bridge now loomed over you, and a group of mean looking men stood under its shade, looking over at the two of you. you didn’t belong here.

anthony… he could pass off as one of them from time to time. but you? the junky who needed a fix and was currently seeking those drugs like a holy grail? you didn’t. you looked like a secretarist, from their perspectives. what was a goody goody two shoes secretarist going to do in this side of town? 

“we’re looking for…” anthony began talking to one of them. 

you were too worried to get the drugs that at this point, you didn’t give a damn about what was being said. you were too busy wondering how much you would get and for what price. the progressing of loudening voices alerted you, however. why would they need to scream at each other? facing the men, you noticed one of them holding his hand to his side, shouting at anthony as your boyfriend continued to try to get the narcotics. 

everything happened so quickly. 

one minute, there was the sound of shouting.

the next, the sound of gunshots going off.

the third, the pain of bullets penetrating your chest. 

your body hit the ground so quickly, and on impact, you felt the air rush out of your lungs. the holes in your chest didn’t help either. what happened? you weren’t listening to anything being said.

did anthony say something they didn’t like?

had they asked you something and you didn’t answer?

had they seen through tony’s lies?

you continued struggling to breathe, hand reaching out for anthony, trying to touch any part of his body that was close enough to your hand. head turning to the side, you noticed the puddle of blood beneath the two of you, the red stains on tony’s shirt, the smell of burnt iron that coated whatever you were able to breathe. taking note of your hand, tony’s warm palm encase yours, his head facing yours, tears brimming in his eyes. the two of you were in a bad part of town. how long until the police noticed your missing bodies? how long will it take the band to call them in the first place?

“i’ll see you in the afterlife, my sweet.”


End file.
